


then there's you.

by spiritwife



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, could be canon divergent could be compliant depends on the level of repression u choose to see, just a lil scene inserted somewhere between baltimore and house telling stacy to stay with mark :-), set during s2, stacy is just Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritwife/pseuds/spiritwife
Summary: Wilson has finally put a name to that wrenching feeling that’s been plaguing him.He’s in love with House.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 256





	then there's you.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr request: _your take on House/Wilson realizing they might have more than platonic feelings for the other 👀_
> 
> title inspired by "and then you" by greg laswell

"Something's bothering you."

"How perceptive."

They've been standing out here in perfect silence, out on their adjacent balconies, for a good fifteen minutes. Maybe it's the subtle tightness in the muscles of Wilson's face and shoulders, maybe it's the way he's been just pushing his salad around in its container more than he's been actually eating it -- but something's clearly tipped House off. It's nearly impossible to get anything past him anymore. They know each other just too damn well.

"Wife finally kick you out? Chin up, it's not like you spent any time at home, anyway." House's voice gets closer as he speaks, and when Wilson glances over, he's leaned against the half-wall between their balconies, brunt of his weight on his good leg and his arms crossed over the top edge of the wall.

"No, actually, she _didn't._ I'm surprised you'd even ask. I thought you were too busy trying to sabotage Stacy's marriage to pretend to give a damn about mine," Wilson says, eyebrows arching up towards his hairline in a sort of mocking surprise. "How's that going, by the way? Have you finally finished manipulating your way back into her heart?"

There's a beat or two of silence. House has that look on his face that Wilson knows means he's thinking about something -- and feeling annoyingly smug about it. A sigh, and Wilson sets down his lunch on the balcony edge, hands shifting to rest on his hips as he turns to face House.

"What?" It comes out rather deadpan, Wilson's mouth pressed into a stiff almost-smile that's headed towards exasperated already.

"You're jealous."

" _What?_ " More incredulous this time.

"Oh, come on. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You've been all weird ever since she showed up. You're afraid that if she and I get back together, then I won't have any time for you. My God, Wilson, has anybody ever told you you can be a little clingy? Maybe that's why your wife's kicking you out," House responds, his face overly animated in the way it always is when he's trying to get a rise out of someone.

A scoff, and then, "She isn't kicking me out! And that's _ridiculous._ We made plenty of time for each other when you two were together before. What difference would it make now?"

Except there _is_ a difference. Wilson isn't even sure he understands it himself, but seeing House so caught up in this again -- caught up in _her_ \-- makes something dark and unpleasant coil around in Wilson's gut. Maybe he really is just jealous. It’s not something that he lets himself dwell on for very long.

"Something's making you pout into your salad," House says with a gesture towards Wilson's (definitely _not_ pouting, thank you) face.

". . . One of my patients. She's dying."

"One of your patients is always dying. Try again."

Wilson lets his head loll backwards and gives a sharp sigh through his nose. House is relentless, and Wilson is floundering. He’s fishing for an answer that he doesn’t know, or perhaps doesn’t _want_ to know; a reason for the fact that lately, he can barely stand the thought of House spending more than a moment alone with Stacy, and it doesn’t quite feel like the simple instinct to protect House’s peace of mind anymore. It’s only gotten worse since Baltimore. He knows something’s happening, something’s _changing,_ and it’s making Wilson antsy. He clings onto that old comfortable excuse and hopes that it’ll still be enough.

“Is it really so hard for you to believe that maybe I’m just worried about you, House? That maybe I haven’t forgotten how much more miserable than usual you were the first time Stacy left you? I can’t -- _you_ can’t go through that again. And you and I both know this thing is just waiting to blow up in your face.” Wilson notes the way his voice is raising in volume, and so he pauses, just for a second in which he bows his head to glance down at his shoes. An inhale, and he tacks on a much quieter, “You need somebody who’s going to tough it out. _Really_ tough it out. Not run away when you get too . . . you. I just don’t know if Stacy can do that.”

There’s a heavy silence lingering between them for a handful of seconds following the end of Wilson’s speech. He’s beginning to suspect that House is simply planning on ignoring him completely. It’s always so difficult to change House’s course once he’s set on his way. Wilson is close to gathering up his things and heading back inside when the response finally comes.

“You mean like you.”

It isn’t a question. When Wilson looks back over that wall, House is staring at him, even and calculating, not a trace left of the amused, mocking expression he’d worn just moments before. Wilson stutters. He stutters for just barely too long for any protest he might give to carry any weight, and there’s something like fear settling into the depths of his chest, cold and heavy. For years, Wilson’s been running, tearing through a line of doomed relationships to try and find someplace to hide, and now House has taken the thing he’s been running from and is dangling it right in front of his nose. It isn’t a joke this time, isn’t an attempt to earn a huff or a chuckle or a rolling of the eyes. Wilson snaps his mouth shut, jaw squared and a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. He isn't sure if it's the open wound that is his own undeniably crumbling marriage or the strange mental exhaustion of these last weeks with Stacy, but something makes him stumble and slow his pace.

“Yeah. Like me.”

House is still staring as Wilson fastens the lid back onto his salad container, still nearly as full as it had been when he’d brought it out here with him, and as Wilson turns to disappear through the door into his office. He is almost regretting not lingering for a moment to see what House would’ve said, but there’s a bigger part of him that’s convinced that he wouldn’t want to hear the answer. He'd been there through Stacy the first time, and he sees the way House is around her still. There's substance there, _history,_ and Wilson would be foolish to think that one little conversation would be enough to brush it under the rug. The door shuts behind Wilson, and the panic sets in.

House is abrasive, he’s arrogant and reckless and the cause of more headaches than Wilson can keep count of, but he’s also a constant. Has been, for so many years. The thought of potentially losing him shouldn’t feel like being scheduled for an amputation, but it does. Wilson looks back over his shoulder towards the door out to his balcony, for a brief moment considering going back out there and laughing it off, telling House he’d only been messing with him, just wanted to see what he’d do. It’d be weak, and House wouldn’t believe him. Something has been there, festering and growing between them for far too long. The difference now is that they’ve dipped their toes in, stopped just dancing around it, and Wilson has finally put a name to that wrenching feeling that’s been plaguing him.

He’s in love with House.

Somehow, it feels terrible and euphoric all at once, and it has Wilson leaned over his desk, gripping the edge of it so hard that his knuckles are flushed white. Wilson is spiraling, his mind already hurtling towards planning out his resignation letter so that he can remove himself as far away from this situation as he possibly can, even though somewhere in the back of his head he knows that’s stupid and unreasonable. Hands relax and let go, and Wilson begins to pace, the bridge of his nose held between a thumb and a forefinger.

The sound of his office door opening has him practically jumping out of his skin. He stops his pacing, head lifting to fix his gaze on the familiar figure standing there in the corridor just outside. House gets in a little more staring before he says anything. Wilson’s starting to feel like a lab sample under a microscope. A remarkably _vulnerable_ lab sample. The quiet is excruciating. He almost wants House to yell at him, make fun of him, something. Anything.

“I’m going to talk to Stacy,” House says. It’s simple. Resolute.

Wilson hates the way that brief sentence makes it feel like his heart is sliding down into his stomach.

“You’re finally going to ask her to talk to Mark. Good.” A nod, mouth pressed into a tight line. Wilson can’t keep eye contact for more than a second or two at a time. “If you’re doing this, he deserves to know.”

House lingers for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. He draws in a breath and taps the end of his cane against the tile floor.

“I’m telling her it’s over.”

Uneven gait continues on down the hallway, and now it’s Wilson’s turn to stare.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @morgwens to give suggestions for any future fics you'd like to see from me!


End file.
